


An Unforgetting Fury

by Temaris



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alpha Peter Hale, Consent given under duress, Dark, F/M, Innovative solutions for increasing the hale pack, M/M, Non-Consensual, Peter doesn't die, Violence, implied possible pregnancy, not mpreg
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-29
Updated: 2015-09-29
Packaged: 2018-04-24 01:27:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,739
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4900306
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Temaris/pseuds/Temaris
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Somewhere in the multiverse, Lydia and Jackson never made it to the final battle. Chris makes a choice to save his family.  Peter wins. And chooses a different revenge on the Argent family.</p>
            </blockquote>





	An Unforgetting Fury

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Claire](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Claire/gifts).



> Happy birthday Claire :D
> 
> (The Kate/Peter is implied for the future.)

"Shoot, and she's dead." Peter says with a smirk. He's standing on the ruined porch, Katie at his feet, hanging by her throat from his clawed fist.

"Okay. okay. I'm not shooting--" Chris steps forwards, hands stretched out with palms outwards, gun pointing up and away. No one is fooled that he couldn't go straight back to shooting at the young pack and its crazed Alpha with a quick flick of his wrist, but Peter cocks his head, curious. His claws retract, but his hand stays wrapped around Kate's throat.

"Dad!"

"Allison!" He throws her a fierce look and she lowers her bow despite her anger.

"I'm not shooting," Chris says again, his eyes on Hale. "Let her go, Peter. Please. We can find another way." 

Peter lifts Katie up a little and shakes her. His claws sink back into her skin, and rivulets of blood seep out from beneath them. "Another way? For this filthy murderer? Just let her go?"

Kate is shaking her head, despite the claws and the pain. "No! Take the fucking shot! Kill him!" she croaks out, her throat too wrecked for anything louder.

Chris locks eyes with her for a second, and winces. "I need to keep you alive, Katie," he says, low and too sincere. He knows he's revealing too much, but he can't let her die thinking that the hunt was more important than her life.

"Why does she get to live?" Derek steps up, his leather jacket and shirt torn and bloodstained. His injuries are blackening around the wolfsbane bullets but he moves as though he hasn't noticed them. He waits at the foot of the porch, and Chris doesn't miss the positioning -- he's at his uncle's right hand. 

"Well, you might get to live too, for one thing," Chris tells him sharply. Derek doesn't even flinch, seems the boy has toughened up. 

Derek doesn't get a chance to reply. Stiles stumbles up next to Derek, and folds his arms, glaring at Chris. He looks ridiculously young, and Chris reminds himself that does not make him innocent or safe. It makes him unpredictable. 

"He'll live anyway, I'll see to that," Stiles says flatly. Chris believes him; his eyebrows twitch up despite his best efforts, and judging by the matched smirks that grew across their faces they know it.

"Derek has a point, Argent," Peter says, dragging the focus of the conversation back to him. "Tell me, why should she live?"

Chris snapped his attention back to the Alpha. Peter's eyes are clear and narrowed at him. Kate is still struggling weakly, but he clubs her and she slumps, limp and still, eyes rolling back in her head. He can't see her breathing.

"Reparations," Chris croaks out, his eyes on his sister. She's unconscious, or faking unconsciousness. She's not dead. Impossible that vivid, vicious Katie is dead. "The Argents -- we will make reparation." 

"Reparations," Peter echoes, "Oh, this should be good. Priceless, even," he says with a slow smirk. "What, precisely do you think you can give me that will ever repay--" He swept a hand out to encompass the burnt out shell of the Hale house, Derek's battered form, and Peter himself. "And all our dead, too." He jumped down from the porch, dragging her behind him, letting her bounce off the remaining steps, and carelessly drops her, more interested in Chris for the moment. Chris isn't deluded for a second that will last.

"They had names, you know. The children your precious Katie slaughtered. My sister. My wife. My daughter. My nieces and nephews, my brother and brother in law. Humans. Wolves. Trapped. Burned alive. At *her* hands." He stalks around Chris and Chris tracks him with his eyes only, trying not to allow the crawling skin on the back on his back to move him into the wrong gesture or twitch.

He shakes his head, keeps his eyes on the ground. It isn't even calculated; he doesn't want to offer challenge -- but he can't face Hale. He -- had forgotten, if he had ever thought enough about it to realise -- that there were little ones in the house. Humans. Innocents.

"What would it take?" he asks, simply. He knows he cannot bring back the dead, nor give the living full measure of their grief returned. He can give money -- but the Hales never lacked for that. He can give apologies, but no Hale will care for it -- or believe it.

A foot kicks the back of his leg and his knee folds under him. He takes the hint, drops to his knees, drops his eyes, stares at the half rotted leaves on the ground. There's something -- a stone or a twig -- jammed painfully under his knee, but he stays still as the Alpha circles him again, prowling closer.

"What do you have to offer that I could possibly want?" Peter asks. Chris startles at the hot breath on his face: Peter is crouched close behind him, speaking almost straight into his ear. He drags his talons around Chris' neck. "Revenge? The restoration of the Hales to our former glory? Bring the dead to life, hmm, perhaps you can do that?"

Chris shakes his head. There are myths, legends, ancient, terrible stories of time unwound, life restored and all he knows is that he cannot offer them, he has neither the skill nor the power nor the desire to risk the universe for the sake of a few lost souls, however beloved, however much their loss now hangs heavy around his family's neck like a millstone, dragging them down to drown in the ocean of Peter Hale's grief.

He's on his knees, eyes down in submission and Peter takes a slow step around to face him, one hand sliding to cup his face. "What will you give me, Argent, to save her pathetic life?"

And Chris whispers, "Anything."

"He'll give you nothing, filth," Kate snarls, at that moment sounding as feral as Peter Hale. 

She's awake again, and Chris almost wishes she weren't. Katie never saw a standoff she couldn't escalate into mayhem. She's glaring at him, and Peter is standing over her. The Alpha moves faster than Chris can track, and it is terrifying to understand how hugely outclassed they are.

"Don't you fucking take this away from me, dammit, Chris," she snaps at him. "I don't care if you kill us both, just _get him_." Peter kicks her ribs casually, and she is silent.

"I want her to live," he repeats, and lets his hands slump to his sides. He chances a quick, desperate glance at Allison, clinging to her werewolf boyfriend, then keeps his eyes on the ground by Peter's feet. "What can I offer?"

"Oho," Peter murmurs. "Chris, Chris, Chris." He walks slowly to him, Katie in his wake, snagged by one clawed hand wrapped around an ankle, her broken body disturbing the damp leaves as it's dragged over the rough ground. Peter's limping, but less with every step he takes, his clothes tattered from bullets and arrows and knife blows but the skin smoothing over underneath the tears, black striations threatening wolfsbane poisoning, but Chris knows better than to believe that will end him. He can hear Katie's hard breathing -- for all her defiance she is badly hurt. She's not going to come to the rescue, not this time.

"So tempting," Peter says cheerfully, looking between the three Argents at his mercy.

He leans in, sniffs deeply. Then licks a long strip up Chris' neck. "Why, I could have me a Argent special. Buy one, get two free."

Chris holds himself absolutely still. The saliva on his neck chills in the cool night air and he feels a long shiver run through him.

"Chris... Would you like that?" Peter murmurs. "If I dropped her and took you, kept you, would you like that? Debauch Gerard's firstborn son -- such a disappointment you must be. Still, you fathered a daughter." His eyes slide up, unerringly, to Allison, who is huddled into his youngest beta's side. "Such a pretty thing. And if Katie's gone, poor dear Allison will be the matriarch. So young for such responsibility," he says, a bitter, mocking edge to the fake sympathy.

"Leave her alone!" Scott shouts, his voice cracking with fear, but still standing tall. Chris winces. He can't help but feel it's a pity the kid's a werewolf; he has good instincts, and courage. And all of that will be lost to Peter Hale, newly ascended and revelling in his power. 

Peter tuts at Scott's defiance, and Chris feels the irresistible command in his voice when Peter snaps out, "Come HERE." The last word is a roar and Scott scrambles forwards, down on his hands and knees panting with terror. 

"Alpha--"

"Oh, now you remember who I am?" He takes a step forwards. Kate bites at him and he casually slaps her face. "Be still." He grips the back of Scott's head and pulls him up to look him squarely in the eyes. "Scott. Little beta. So desperate to be anything but who you truly are. I should make you take her life for me right now, fix it once and for all."

Allison is on the ground, sobbing, "Scott, please, no, you can resist it--"

"Oh, I'm sure," Peter agrees. "Unless I took away his anchor." He turns to look at her, slowly, tilting his head first, as though intrigued by a bug that dared to speak, then following around with his whole body until all his attention is on Chris' little girl. 

Chris croaks out a "No--" and Scott drops his eyes, tears running down his face.

"No, please, please-- take me. Let her go, I'll do whatever you want--" Scott speaks, but the words might as well be Chris'. 

"Oh, if you insist," he smiles, and reaches down and lifts Scott's chin. "I could be so kind, you only have to give in."

The mulish look on Scott's face didn't shift, and Peter sighs. "Very well, I'll kill the girl."

"No!" Scott loses the attitude in a heartbeat, and drops, crouching at Peter's feet, defeated.

"Leave them alone," Stiles yells, struggling against Derek's grip on his arm. Peter's eyes snapped around to him.

"Oh, and you," he says, the threat worse for the cheerful smile and tilt of his head. "I'd almost forgotten about you, little spark. I should have bitten you." Peter shakes his head. "Ah well. We all make mistakes. Not too late to change your mind, though." It's more a question than a statement and Stiles mutely shakes his head. Peter shrugs. "Still a lie, but we can discuss that later. Derek, deal with him."

Derek seizes the back of the kid's shirt and drags him away, Stiles protesting every step of the way until his voice fades into the distance.

"Of course, if I turned him, there'd be the endless chatter to deal with," Peter says to Chris, as though they're having a casual conversation on the merits of stripping people of their humanity. "But on the positive side, it would be easier to tell him to shut up."

Chris stares at the ground, wondering what exactly Peter and Derek mean by 'deal with'. Derek can't bite him -- not to turn him at least. "What will--"

"Oh, he won't kill him. Derek was ever the tender heart. Isn't that right, Scott?" 

Scott says nothing, still cowed, although his eyes are hostile, and Chris can feel the edges of a plan -- but that's for the future. First he has to make sure they get to have a future. He keeps his eyes on the ground, waiting. Peter won't be able to resist.

\--------------

Peter surveys the clearing. He has won.

"Tell me about your reparations, Argent," he says. There is nothing he can offer that Peter could not take anyway, but making Argent give it up will be so much more -- entertaining.

Chris closes his eyes. "You can do what you want with me."

"Obviously. Who will stop me now? But--" He strolls over to Chris, walks around him once more. Chris keeps his eyes on the ground, barely breathing. Peter is terrifyingly close to him -- but that means he's further from Allison and Katie. He crouches next to Chris, meets his eyes with a curious tilt of his head. "But, you know, where's the fun in that?" he asks, very softly. 

Peter tilts his head up, eyes on the ruins of the Hale house. Chris can't help but look too, and for a moment he feels it, the jab of grief and pain that the wolf feels: all those people, family, murdered. He breathes shallowly, noiselessly. He doesn't dare speak. 

"I'm not an unjust man, Christopher. You didn't light the fire. You didn't rape my underage nephew. You didn't trap and murder my entire family. That was someone else. And someone, someone with a spark, sealed the mountain ash, trapped the wolves inside the house." Peter shakes his head slowly. "But you never stopped it."

"You never stopped her."

"What can I do?" Chris asks again, despairing. Peter smiles.

"I want all this pain, unravelled, the loss restored. The old to be made new again." Chris can see there is a trick inside the demand, but doesn't see how or where. The trick will destroy the Argents, he can feel it in his bones. Peter asks the impossible, and it is merely the start of his revenge.

"Impossible," Chris breathes. "I can't bring the dead back --I can't unwind time--"

"So dramatic!" Peter stands abruptly, sweeps a hand wide at the clearing. "I ask so very little. No resurrections, nor time unwound." He turns and Chris meets his eyes, Alpha red, implacable. "Rebuild the house. And give me your sister for long enough to breed up some more Hales."

Chris stared at him, jaw dropped. "Impossible," he said reflexively.

"Impossible?" Peter asked, straightening slowly, turning his head to meet Chris's incautiously raised eyes. "Not so impossible as unwinding time itself, surely? Your precious Katie lives, for a while at least, and I get to restore the pack that she killed. There's a beautiful sort of justice to it, don't you think? After all, you can't breed me a litter, and poor dear Allison -- well, Scott has her covered." He smirks wickedly, and Chris can't prevent the moan of shock. Both kids make muffled sounds of protest, each hushing the other desperately.

"Ally--" he whispers and Peter laughs.

"Oh, not yet. But soon enough I expect."

Chris swallows. There's money. He can at least offer up part of what Hale wants, but the rest -- Gerard will kill them all. "I can build the house, but I can't -- I can't give Katie to--"

"Give her? To a wolf? You misunderstand. You don't have give her to me, I've already taken her. She's mine. She can die, or she can live. Which would you prefer?"

Chris closes his eyes, feels a long unfamiliar tears slide out, and swallows as Peter laughs again.

"That's what I thought." Peter leans in close, and nuzzles at Chris' neck, scraping his fangs over the carotid. "But don't worry. I'll have plenty of time left for you, Christopher."

Chris says, "Please, I'll do anything--" and Peter gets this look on his face, crouches down next to Chris, and says, 

"That's a dangerous promise to make. Can you keep it?" he says, and Chris is straining to hear, and nods, yes, yes he can do it. 

He's shoved down into the dirt, and Peter stands, he can feel the toes of Hale's boots against his rib cage before they move away. Peter says, "Don't move a muscle," and Chris closes his eyes out of sight, hopes that doesn't count. 

"Mr Argent has made me a compelling offer. I wonder, little one, can you make me one as good?" 

He sounds further away, and he hears Allison's voice, shaky but defiant:

"Leave him alone, you monster!" she spits out, and Chris would smile, he knows the look on her face right now, doesn't need to see it, but she's in too much danger, innocent defiance pitted against an enemy she cannot defeat. 

"Innocent, she's an innocent," he whispers, knows Peter will hear, doesn't know what he will do.

"Didn't I say not a muscle? I can tear out your tongue and still get what I want," Peter says, conversationally, and Allison makes a muted whimper.

"Dad, please!" she begs, and he wonders what she would give up for him. He knows what he would give up for her. Choosing between her crush and her father - well, she's a tough kid. She knows her Dad can take care of himself, he just wishes that she wasn't wasting her choice on a damn puppy, however cute and soft he looked. Still, he'd toughen up fast enough, even with -- especially with -- Peter as his Alpha.

"No, a deal is a deal," Peter says. Chris can hear the smile in his tone, knows it's backed by violence and cruelty, and trusts Allison and Scott know it too.

"Still, I can hardly let her go free," Peter adds, and Chris squints across the clearing to see what Peter is doing. He's hoisted Kate onto his shoulders. "I hear the basement has been refurbished since the last time I dropped by," he says cheerfully, heading into the ruins. Chris didn't see the set-up Kate put in place, but then, he doesn't need to, he's seen so many other torture sessions.

Allison is kneeling beside him, rolling him onto his back, and he grips her arms, speaks over her panicky pleas for him to get up, run. "Allison, listen, he can hear everything, do you understand? Everything? And this will keep Kate alive--" Keep you alive, he means.

"She's not worth it!" she hisses, and he feels only sad. Her innocence has been ripped away, and she thinks it's everything, and doesn't even know how much more she has to lose. It's not a game; she knows that. He can see it in her eyes. "She killed the Hales, Dad," she whispers through tears, "Even the babies."

"Werewolves and humans, the whole pack," Chris says softly, "The whole family were peaceful, minding their own business, werewolf or other. Your aunt never cared for rules. Or mercy. But we -- we have to keep the Code. Or we're worse than they are." 

"Dad, no, please -- we can--"

He shook his head swiftly. No time. "You have to go. It's not just Kate -- " Chris tightens his grip on her arm, "Do you understand, I'm a pledge for the Argent family. All of us. You and your Mom. Me and Kate. All of us. While Kate and I live, Gerard won't make a move, and honey, we do not want Gerard involved in this."

"G-gerard?" 

"Your Mom'll explain." He rolls over to the position Peter left him in. "I will be fine. Go."

"Yes, sweetheart," Peter says. His lips are bloody and Allison stands bolt upright, hands clenching and unclenching uselessly. "Go. Take your boyfriend. Enjoy your freedom. Tell that murderous old monster when he arrives that the lives of his family are forfeit if so much as one wolf dies in Beacon Hills, I don't even care who that wolf is."

"Go," Chris says softly. A hand presses over his neck, and he closes his eyes again.

"I'll --"

"I'm not a monster, sweetheart," Peter says from his crouch over Chris. "You can come visit. I'll clean him up specially for you." There's a brief pause, and then Allison takes a careful step back, then another and another. "That's right, little hunter, watch the monster and his master as you flee."

Allison's steps hesitate, her pace hitching for a fraction of a second, and she turns, walks away. "Come on, Scott," she whispers. Chris risks a glance, and they are walking away, spines rigid with fear, hand in hand. 

"Well now, it's just us." Peter sets a hand on the back of Chris' neck, and he waits, barely breathing, the warmth of Peter's palm steady on his skin. A slow scratch, Peter's claws sliding out, one by one, gliding over the line of his spine, and then abruptly down, ripping his shirt open. A couple more swipes and the whole thing falls away, the remnants still tucked into his jeans. Then hands again, stroking lightly over his bare back. 

"So many scars, Christopher," he says softly, and Chris can feel fingers moving in little bursts over him, knows what they're touching as the sensation goes in and out -- there a werewolf raked him with its claws leaving scars with nerve damage; here a witch knifed him, there, the starburst of friendly fire that went through an alpha wolf after it passed through him, obliterating its heart in a burst of expanding particles. He'd damn near lost a kidney over that one. More claw marks, the darker spatters of burns -- electrical torture, fire from salamanders and witches, and plain burns from far too many burning buildings. 

Peter's hands are gentle. "One day, you'll tell me about these," he says quietly, and runs his hands back up, sweeping out over Chris shoulder blades. "You're quite beautiful, underneath it all."

He feels a different touch, a kiss, just a brush of lips trailing slowly from shoulder to shoulder and back, Peter's face pressing into the curve of his neck. "Turn your head," he whispers. Chris can feel the weight of Peter's thighs against his hips, planted firmly over him. 

"What are you going to do?" he dares ask -- he knows the answer, and Peter knows he knows, but he still wants to hear it. Peter sinks his weight slowly onto Chris' back, rocks his hips deliberately over Chris' ass and grinds obscenely. Peter's mouth is open and wet on his neck, his teeth just pressing in a little, not enough to be more than a hint. 

"Turn. Your. Head." 

He turns. Eyes shut. Peter's breath burning over his cheek and then Peter's teeth are on his flesh again, biting in, hard and human, "Mine." It's a snarl, and he knows what happens next.

His jeans are torn out, the seat gone, a zipper opened, and his hips seized, pulled up and apart. The wind is cold, and he is cold and hot from the touch and desperate that Allison be free and Kate is alive, and he promises himself that this is nothing, this is nothing, he can survive anything as long as Allison is free and Kate is alive.

"I am going to breed her up, you know," Peter says. "I'm absolutely serious about that." His dick is hard, the tip rocking back and forth into Chris' crack which is getting wetter and wetter, the rough drag becoming a smooth glide, until the tip is notching into his hole, and pushing, pushing, and he opens, just so far, and no further, but that doesn't stop Peter who hitches Chris' hips back, pulling him forcibly deeper onto his prick. 

Chris bites off a yelp of pain - it burns, so bad, flooding his senses with pain, there's nothing else but the raw swelling burst of agony of his asshole being filled, Peter's thick cock sinking slower and slower into him, deeper and deeper, until the drag of it reverses, and it's no better, feeling him slither out than it was to feel him press in. 

His body hopes, and his mind knows better, that this is all of it, but his body is wrong, and Peter pushes in again, sinking even further in until the full length is inside his ass, and Peter's hips are wedged tight against his ass, shoving forwards with little humming humps of pleasure.

"Nice and tight." Peter approves, it seems. Chris is lifted a little, his dick exposed. "Still soft, oh dear," Peter says in mock sympathy, "Are you not enjoying this?" He wraps his fingers around Chris' dick, squeezes gently, over and over. Not the cold or the fear, not the pain --sliding away now, chased by slow building pleasure -- not the fear of what is happening to Kate right now can stop this. 

"There we go."

He doesn't want to be this person. Fully hard. Filled. Pinned under a monster's powerful hips. "Let's begin," is all Peter says, and then the stretch and the burn vanish out of memory, and this, this is what he feared. Chris whines, feeling that fat cock stuffed inside him, tilts his hips for more, shoves back blindly, eagerly. He hasn't been fucked since before Allison was born, and Victoria has never been interested in pegging him. 

It feels so good. 

He stares at his hands, locked together on the ground. His knuckles are white. It's the only part of him not somehow lost in the way Peter is fucking him. They hold steady as his body rocks, riding out the hard thrusts and slow withdrawal. Peter is heavier on his back that he would have expected, at the back of his mind he's making notes, knows he will remember this later, some distant, clinical part of his brain observing from very far away that there's maybe something to note about density or weight of Alpha werewolves, perhaps that's where the extra mass comes from when they change? 

It feels amazing. He's missed cock, missed getting on his knees and fucked, missed being under a heavy, sweating body with no choices except to take what they give him, and love it.

Peter's hand slides around from his hip, strokes his cock lightly, exploring shaft and balls with delicate, dangerous scraps of inch long talons. Chris grunts at the thrill of it, the hot pressure in his ass as it comes and goes, and the bleeding scratches on his cock. He drops his head and watches beads of blood well up into the near invisible cuts, the beads trickle and gather, rolling down his shaft in slow runnels, gathering under his glans, like a living, liquid ring. Peter sniffs and brings his hand up and licks it. "You taste good, Chris," he says. He sounds surprised, and Chris is surprised when Peter reaches down again, gathers up more of the slowly leaking blood and licks his hand clean, hums with pleasure. "I could get a taste for your blood," he murmurs. "You feel so good, and you--" He licks at Chris' neck, then buries his face in the crook of shoulder and neck, gnawing at Chris without breaking the skin.

"I want to bite you--" he says, and Chris isn't even sure that he knows he's talking out loud. "Just a little, sink my fangs in, watch you turn, you'd be amazing--" He clamps his teeth and slowly increases the pressure.

"No, no, no, no--" Chris finds himself whispering. Begging. 

Peter wrenches his mouth away. "The deal would be off if you were a wolf." he says. As though he isn't fucking into Chris' ass, isn't breathing hard against his spine, mouthing spit onto his neck.

"Yes," Chris says hoarsely. Gerard would not honour a treaty made for the life of a hunter turned werewolf. Gerard would consider Chris worse than dead, and expect him to correct the omission. So would Victoria. 

Ally. Ally would not understand. They'd tell her that Peter killed him, and it would be true, but not all of the truth. Hs bright eyed girl, taught to murder and hate.

He doesn't want to have her murder Peter Hale. Not for Peter's sake. For hers.

And maybe -- Peter is panting hard into his shoulder, his hips working faster and faster. Chris lifts his head, tilts his ass a little, he knows the angle he needs, and sure enough, a slight adjustment -- knees a little wider, ass tilted just so, and Peter's thick wolf cock is dragging across Chris' prostate. Chris throws his head back, baring his neck, and Peter kisses at his jawline, biting, nuzzling nips of tooth and lips working down until their mouths meet, Chris' neck twisted awkwardly, and it feel so good, warm, wet mouth on his, in his, tongues slipping against each other, lips parting and holding again and again, until Peter lifts his head and howls, the sound echoing through the Reserve. 

Somewhere in the town below, Victoria will hear the howl and wonder; Allison can't be with her yet, but soon. And then she will know.

This round is Hale's.


End file.
